


Dead Men Don't Bite

by brookebond



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), The Dark Knight Rises
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, John Makes Questionable Life Choices, M/M, Murder, Post-Canon, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 23:56:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11279442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookebond/pseuds/brookebond
Summary: Blake goes looking for a missing child and finds a lot more than he bargained for.





	Dead Men Don't Bite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marourin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marourin/gifts).



> The prompt for this was: Urban Horror  
> I'm not entirely sure I got there, who knows! I did so much research trying to find a good angle for this.  
> I'm pretty chuffed with where it ended up though, especially since this is my first fic in this fandom!
> 
> Thank you so, so, so much to pinkys_creature_feature and jambees221b for being the most amazing cheerleaders for this fic. I went through so many stages of doubting it and not knowing where it was going. They were there for every freak-out and helped me through. There are not enough words to thank you properly.
> 
> Special thank you to teacuphuman for betaing this monster. You were absolutely amazing and I appreciate it so much!
> 
> This fic would be nothing without all the help I've had.  
> I hope you all love it as much as I do!

Since he’d quit the force, John had been at loose ends trying to fill his days. He trained, or tried to, at least, but it was hard without a mentor. Batman had died saving Gotham from Bane’s insane occupation which left him with no one to turn to for vigilante lessons. But even so, training only took up so many hours of the day.

His body would end up crying out for him to stop and that was when he would get bored, wanting something to do that didn’t involve hiding in a cave. Boredom was the reason he had ended up on the streets of Gotham, in the middle of the night, wearing a hooded jacket and dark jeans.

John knew it was stupid to try taking on criminals in Gotham, but he was restless and things were getting out of control without Batman there to take care of them. He wanted to fill the gap that Batman dying had left. Gotham needed someone looking out for it and John thought he could be that person. Besides, he figured he could run if anything became too much to handle.

Everything started out alright, quiet even, but sometime around three in the morning, John got cornered.

He’d stumbled across a robbery; two men cleaning out a jewellery store. It seemed simple enough, he was used to those sorts of crimes from his days on the force and had handled many of them.

John followed the men, his steps light as he kept his distance so as not to alert them to his presence. They turned into an alley. That was his moment. He knew it was a dead end and that was to his advantage.

He tapped a trash can, grabbing the robbers attention as he turned the corner after them.

“Well, well, well,” one of the robbers said. His beanie was pulled low over his face in what John assumed was a poor attempt to hide his face. “What do we have here?”

“You lost, kid?” the other one asked. When he spoke, he stepped into the light, revealing a scar running across his left cheek.

John straightened his shoulders and clenched his fists at the name but didn’t respond, just stalked down the alley towards them. That was his first mistake.

Beanie guy pulled out a gun, aiming it at John’s head. “Just back away, kid. No one has to get hurt.”

John kept walking, slowly taking step after step towards the robbers. He was looking at the gun but keeping the other guy in his peripheral vision. It wouldn’t do to make a rookie mistake like losing sight of an assailant. Gordon had made that lesson stick during the occupation.

“Just hand over the bag and we can all go our separate ways,” John said, pitching his voice low to try and make it harder for them to identify him later.

“Don’t think so, kid,” scar face said and lunged forward, swiping a knife at John’s torso.

John managed to step back, the knife slicing through his jacket. It was far too close for his liking. “You don’t want to do that,” he warned, slamming a hand against the guy’s elbow as he tried to cut John again. The knife fell to the ground with a clatter, scar face gripping at his arm.

“You little shit,” beanie guy hissed.

John struck out, his right forearm colliding with the gunman’s wrist and disarming him. It felt good to take down two guys, to see them clutching at themselves in pain that John had inflicted. He was grinning to himself when someone grabbed him, one arm wrapping around his chest from behind and pinning him in place.

‘ _Fuck_ ,’ he thought as cold metal bit into his neck. This was going so far from what he’d planned.

“Move and I’ll slice your pretty neck open.”

John fought the shiver that threatened to run through him. He’d been a cop, he could deal with the sudden adrenaline spike. But he hadn’t even noticed this guy, hadn’t seen him hiding in the shadows. Fucking rookie mistakes.

“Where did you come from, hmmm?” the guy pressed to his back asked as the two robbers John had originally chased picked up their belongings and ran off, leaving John and his assailant alone in the dark alley.

John tilted his head away from the guy in an attempt to get away from the hot breath that tickled his ear. It was wet and raspy and made John feel disgustingly dirty. He tried to think of everything he’d been taught at the academy but his mind was coming up blank. The only thing he could think of was that he wanted—desperately—to get away from this guy and his rancid breath.

“Answer me,” the man hissed, lips rubbing over the shell of John’s ear.

He couldn’t hold back the shudder that time as the assailant’s lips twisted up against his ear.

“Do you like that?”

John was going to be sick. He was sure of it. His stomach twisted in knots, every bit of training flying out of his head as he started to panic. If he could keep calm, John knew he’d able to get out of the hold easily. They’d practiced it repeatedly at the academy. But he couldn’t remember what he was supposed to do.

“Answer me,” the man pressed to his back hissed again, the knife digging into John’s throat.

A wet trickle slipped under his shirt. John vaguely registered that it was most likely blood from the knife piercing skin but he was acutely aware of the tongue running over his ear. Bile filled his throat, his stomach turning at the disgusting nature of his assailant.

It wasn’t the first time he’d dealt with unwanted attention. It was, however, the first time John had to deal with it while he was being held at knifepoint. There was a first for everything; he only wished he wasn’t experiencing it at all.

“Fuck off,” John bit out.

“I like when they fight back,” the man chuckled lowly.

Could this guy get any worse?

John closed his eyes, breathing deeply and letting his mind wander so he wouldn’t have to be present for whatever happened next. He wasn’t getting away with a knife against his throat so he knew all he could do was hold out until an opportunity presented itself, _if_ one ever did.

There was a loud snap and John was being dragged to the ground. He let out a shriek, limbs flailing.

John scrambled to his feet, pushing and shoving to get away from the squishy thing that had broken his fall. He managed to stand up, stumbling a few times and landing heavily on his hands before his shaky legs would hold him.

A quick glance around had John stepping back in shock from the body at his feet. The guy’s head was twisted at an odd angle but it took a moment to register that whomever had helped him had actually snapped his assailant’s neck.

John’s head snapped up, catching a glimpse of a large, dark figure in the light from the street lamp at the end of the alley before it slipped off into the night.

He looked back at the man who had assaulted him. While he didn’t condone murder, John couldn’t bring himself to care that this man had been killed. He knew that there was something wrong with him, but this guy had had it coming. In the end, it was always going to be John or him, and John was grateful that it wasn’t him dead on the ground. At least John would get another chance to try and save Gotham from its disgusting underworld.

Sirens alerted John to the incoming police and he ran from the alley, keeping track of where the officers were coming from. He ran the entire way back to his apartment, breathing heavily as he locked the door behind him.

John stumbled his way to the bathroom, flicking on the light and blinking at the sudden brightness. He shuffled to the sink, shielding his eyes and squinting in the mirror. He looked terrible; eyes red-rimmed, hair sticking up in every direction, jacket torn and cut in several places, and a line of dried blood trailing down his neck to his shirt.

He couldn’t believe he had done that, gone out into the seedy streets of Gotham in the middle of the night. He had been so close to being killed, the knife had cut him. Was he stupid or just a reckless hothead like everyone on the force said he was?

He collapsed onto his bed, plaster hastily stuck to his neck, still fully dressed, and was asleep within seconds of his head hitting the pillow.

—

John had a standing agreement with Father Reilly that he would go to St Swithin’s once a week and mentor some of the older boys in an attempt to keep them off the streets and out of trouble. John wasn’t entirely convinced it was working, but he was determined to keep trying. If he’d had someone helping him when he was a kid, things might have turned out different for him. He wanted these kids to have more options than he had.

He had a different plan for the boys today, though. They could get into places John couldn’t, so he wanted to enlist their help keeping an eye out for the large, dark figure from the previous night.

John wasn’t sure if he wanted to find the person to thank them or arrest them. The only thing he was sure of was that he _needed_ to know who had saved his life.

“I’m not asking you to confront this guy. I just want to know where to find them,” John iterated as patiently as he could. He’d tried to explain what he wanted three different ways and the boys still weren’t getting it. Well, three of them looked like they might be, but the rest of them looked terrified.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” one of the boys said with a shake of his head.

“Adam, right?” The boy nodded. “I’m just asking you to _look_. That’s not so bad, is it?”

“You haven’t heard then?” a blond boy piped up, peeking over Adam’s shoulder.

“Heard what?”

“Something’s living in the sewers,” he said, shivering.

“Something?” John prompted.

The boys all looked at each other, clearly debating whether or not they should share what they knew. Adam was clearly the leader for this group so John locked eyes with him, hoping it would unnerve the kid enough to spill his secrets.

Adam started to fidget, his eyes darting to a few of his friends who all shook their heads at him. “We have to tell him,” Adam hissed.

John rested his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped in front of him as he waited for someone to tell him what was going on. There were far more pressing matters to tend to and if they weren’t going to help, John had to find a way to set up some sort of surveillance to find the person that had helped him.

“There’s a bear that lives in the sewers,” a small boy called out from beneath the table John was sitting on.

“Don’t be stupid, Kevin.”

“It’s a giant crocodile—”

“Is not!”

“Is too! It comes out at night and eats people.”

“Woah,” John called, holding his hands up to try and get the group back under control. “You’re saying there are large animals in the sewers?”

“Kevin doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Adam said, taking back command.

All the boys looked at Adam, nodding. All except for Kevin who was being hauled out from under the table.

“Someone had better tell me what’s going on,” John demanded, eyes locking with Adam once again. He was going to give the boys one last chance to tell him what was up before he left to get the answers himself.

“There’s a rumour someone’s living in the sewers.”

John raised a brow, a silent gesture for Adam to keep going.

“No one’s seen them but we’ve heard of people being taken down there and not coming back out.”

“You mean like during the occupation?”

Adam shook his head. “We knew they were alive. But this time…” he trailed off, letting John fill in the blanks.

“And no one’s seen what this person looks like?” John wanted to clarify so he could add to the mental list he was creating.

“He has a hook for a hand,” Kevin called out.

“No, he’s got a peg leg—”

“Half his face his missing—”

“He eats the people he takes—”

“Would you all shut up,” Adam yelled over the top of the other boys.

At least John could count on one of them to be sensible. He wasn’t going to put anything the others boys said on his list of things to keep an eye out for. A man with a hook and peg leg eating people? There were a lot of strange things in Gotham, but there wasn’t anything _that_ strange.

“No one’s going into the sewers looking for work, are they?”

Adam shook his head. “We know there’s nothing down there.”

“Good.” John nodded. Maybe if they were lucky, Adam would keep them all on the straight and narrow. “You need to know what to look for,” he said, looking only at Adam.

Adam shooed the other boys away, making sure some of the older ones had the younger ones firmly in their grasp. “Shoot,” he said, climbing up to sit next to John.

“It was a large guy. I don’t mean fat. I mean tall, bulky, something like that,” John said, rushing to stop Adam from whatever smartass comment he was coming up with. “I didn’t get a good look at them, it was too dark. But I need to know if you ever see anyone that might look like that, okay?”

Adam nodded. “What if we find them?”

“Don’t go near them.” John couldn’t imagine what would happen to one of the boys if they tried to get in that person’s way. He didn’t want to find out. “Just call me and stay clear of them, understand?”

John lingered only long enough to make sure Adam got the message. He bypassed Father Reilly’s office on the way out, not wanting to deal with any questions. It was hit and miss with whether or not the Father had heard any of the boys’ commotion. Plus it was easier to just slip out and pretend he’d been called away to deal with something.

He had to wait until dark to go into the sewers so John headed to the cave to pick up supplies. He could only hope he fared better than the night before.

—

It was easy to get into the sewers. Probably too easy really, but John didn’t care. He’d still managed to slip in without anyone spotting him. That was something to be proud of at least, even if he didn’t have anyone to share the joy with.

John stood at the bottom of the ladder, glancing to the left and right. He strained to hear any sounds other than the constant dripping that was par for the course in the sewers. The lack of other sounds didn’t fill John with confidence though. He stepped away from the ladder, choosing to go down the tunnel to his left.

There was the occasional rat that scurried past him but other than that, John couldn’t find signs of anything living in the sewers. He didn’t know if he should be pleased or worried about that. A part of him had wanted to find someone down there, to actually have something to do, to feel useful again, but he knew that was ridiculous. This way there wasn’t any chance of Bane or his men still lingering in Gotham.

John sighed and headed back to the ladder he’d used to enter the sewers. As his hand landed on the top rung, he looked over his shoulder, squinting into the darkness.

“Hello?” he called, positive he could make out a figure hiding in the shadows.

When nobody responded, John swallowed and hastily started climbing. Maybe he wasn’t quite ready to go searching for whatever the boys thought was haunting Gotham’s underground.

—

Right hook. Jab. Upper-cut. Dodge. John breathed heavily, bouncing on his feet as he moved around the dummy, throwing punches. When the terror had faded after that first night, John had itched to get back out on the streets, to hunt down any leads on crimes. He’d gone out the night before but had returned home empty-handed.

It was frustrating. John just wanted to be an upstanding citizen of Gotham City again. Wanted to help clean up the streets. But it was turning out to be harder than he had anticipated.

He threw a few more punches before landing one kick to the dummy’s torso and calling it quits. John wasn’t sure how long he’d been training for, long enough to have missed five calls from the boys at St Swithin’s.

“Fuck,” he muttered, hitting the call button. He wiped at his brow while he waited for the call to connect. A slight panic built inside him. What if one of them had gotten hurt doing as he asked?

“Why haven’t you been answering?” Adam asked, launching into his tirade without letting John get a word in. “We found him. That guy you wanted us to look for. He was climbing into the sewer. He’s down there now. He is fucking massive.”

“Wait, hold on.” John paused his walk to the bathroom, having to be stationary to understand what he was being told. “You found the person I was looking for?”

“Yes,” Adam huffed, his impatience clear even across the phone.

“Please tell me none of you got close enough for them to see you.”

“We aren’t stupid, John. Do you wanna know where to find him or what?”

“Tell me everything,” John said and walked to his bedroom, grabbing things from his wardrobe to cover the gear he’d been working out in. His first stop was going to be the cave. He needed supplies.

—

John paced beside the manhole, contemplating what he was about to do. Was it suicidal to go down there on his own? Shouldn’t he be letting someone know what he was doing? The thought made him laugh. There wasn’t anyone in the world that would miss him if anything happened to him. He had no one.

With a deep breath, John descended the ladder. It was as disgusting as it had been the last time he was down there; a chill to the air, dripping water in the distance, scuttling rats, and a strange smell that John couldn’t decipher. It was either something burning or he was having some sort of stroke.

He took a step away from the ladder, foot landing in a puddle of water. “Great,” he muttered, but kept walking. There was already a different feeling from the last time John had been there. Something felt off. He couldn’t figure out what it was, but he knew _something_ wasn’t right and that strangeness was the only thing keeping him alert.

There was a prickle on the back of his neck, making him feel watched. John tried to not let it affect him, tried not let his nerves about someone being in the sewer with him show, because if there was someone else down there, telegraphing his fears would be a massive mistake.

John walked in the opposite direction from where he thought someone was watching him from, just to see what happened. He made it down the tunnel and into a larger space, immediately regretting his decision. There was a waterfall, the rushing water covering any subtle sounds he might have been able to pick up before. That wasn’t good.

He should have gone in the opposite direction.

His neck prickled again. Despite not hearing anything, John spun around, attempting to catch whoever was behind him. There wasn’t anyone around, though. Not anyone he could see, at least.

Someone was playing with him.

Two could play games. He wasn’t exactly the best opponent, the most seasoned fighter out there, but John knew a few things and he was fast. Fast enough to outrun anyone that might try to get the upper hand. John had learned young that he needed to be quicker than everyone else. It was a tactic he had employed many times and it had helped while he was on the force. Being fast meant he could catch people faster. Now it meant he would have a chance to get away. Whoever was toying with him in the sewers was clearly more than just a common thief, though.

“I know you’re there,” he called, walking slowly to try and keep his steps quiet. He still wasn’t sure where the other person was—if there was someone watching him—and he needed to try to figure it out before they made the first move.

There was no response but John heard a few steps through water behind him. John whipped around, catching sight of a dark figure moving through a shaft of light. Despite the large coat the stranger was wearing, his size was no trick. The guy had at least half a foot on him. Going into the sewers alone was definitely a mistake.

Even though the guy had given John a glimpse of himself, he knew he was still being played with and he didn’t like it. John wondered how quickly he could make it back to the ladder. There was no guarantee he wouldn’t be followed through the streets of Gotham, but John knew those streets better than the sewers. He would be on a more even playing field above ground.

The only problem was that in the time John had taken to think of his plan, the hulking stranger had stepped directly into John’s path to the surface. It was too dark to make out any features but he had a feeling this guy knew that. The game was still being played.

John feinted to the right but the guy didn’t move. He tried feinting to the left but the guy still didn’t move, just tilted his head. That wasn’t unnerving at all.

“Who are you?” John asked, trying a different tactic.

There still wasn’t a response.

John contemplated his chances of getting out of the sewers alive and figured they were fairly slim, but if there was still a chance, he had to take it.

John made a run for it, managing to slip down between the guy and the wall before he was grabbed and thrown backwards. His arms flew out, hands breaking his fall. The only thing fluttering through his head was that he should have trained more. Then maybe he would have stood a chance against this brick shithouse looming over him.

“Are you going to stand there all day or are you going to kill me?” he asked, gritting his teeth as he pushed himself to his feet. His hands ached. They were more than likely grazed and who knew what kind of crap was covering them. He was in a fucking sewer. He was going to be lucky he didn’t end up with some sort of infection.

“Can you even talk?” John asked, squinting into the dark to try and make out anything on the guy. It was impossible though, there were shadows hiding every defining feature from view. It was just his luck that he was going to get killed by some mute in the sewers of Gotham while no one knew where he was.

“Right then,” he said with a nod. “If you don’t mind.” John tried to push past the guy but a rough hand pushed him back until he collided with the wall, his head cracking against it.

He blinked, eyes coming into focus just in time to see the guy stalking towards him. A fleeting thought that he was utterly fucked flashed through his mind as a forearm pressed against his chest.

All the air rushed out of him at the sudden pressure. This guy was so much stronger than John had thought—though really he should have figured a guy of that size was a fucking weight lifter or something—and he feebly clutched at the forearm, trying to find purchase. There wasn’t any, though. John could barely wrap his fingers around it, let alone budge the arm.

Hot breath tickled his ear and John couldn’t help but be reminded of the night this guy had killed someone to save him. He had to wonder if that really was to save him though, considering he was currently being crushed. Maybe the guy had no idea who he was.

“You saved me,” John croaked.

The pressure eased just a little, enough for John to get a gulping breath of air into his lungs. They burned a little with the sudden rush. His words still didn’t elicit a vocal response from his attacker. They only earned him the breathing room and that was turning out to be a mistake. John wondered if he could press his luck into having his lungs crushed again. He would rather that than being assaulted by the overwhelming smell of leather and smoke.

It had been months since John had been close to another human being and his body was reacting in an unfavourable way, his cock starting to fill. He tried to will himself to focus on other things, like the burn in his lungs or the rush of water he could still hear, but it didn’t work. Not when the guy pressed in harder. Except it wasn’t his arm that pressed in this time, it was his hips.

Firm thighs pressed forward and John wriggled, a managing to get one slipped between his own. It felt so good but so bad and John bit his lips to stop the sounds that threatened to bubble up.

His cock strained against his pants, pressing against one of those massive thighs and John couldn’t stop himself from shifting his hips just a little. The friction was delicious and his breathing hitched. His attacker leaned back a few inches clearly taking stock of the slight change in John’s breathing.

God, he hoped the guy couldn’t tell he was getting off from being pinned against the wall. He had to make a show of trying to get away, so John gripped the guy’s shoulders and tried to push. It was futile. While looking like a brick shithouse, he felt like one as well.

John’s struggle only made the attacker press against him harder and he couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped. The friction of the guy pressing into him was too much. It was too good and he shifted his hips, utilising every inch of space he had to rub himself off on this guy’s thigh. His fingers dug into the attacker’s shoulders as he felt a hot brush of air against his ear. He shivered and pressed his hips hard against the thigh between his legs, coming with a soft cry.

It took a few seconds for John to come back to himself and realise what he’d just done. He pushed at the guy’s shoulders and—surprisingly—met no resistance. He sagged a little without the solid body holding him up, but John ran, not letting himself have any sort of guilty moment with his attacker. He was embarrassed and ashamed that he had done something so stupid.

John ran all the way home, his pants drying and sticking to him. It was uncomfortable, but not nearly as bad as he felt inside. Bile rose in his stomach as he thought about what had happened in the sewer. He’d gone down there with the intention of finding the person the boys had seen, and sure, he’d managed that, but it shouldn’t have ended the way it had. He felt dirty, felt sick with himself.

He peeled his clothes off, wincing as his pants pulled on his sensitive flesh, and left the clothes on the floor. He was going to burn them as soon as he’d washed the deed from his skin.

The shower was as hot as he could handle. His skin tingling and pinking up as he scrubbed every inch of his body. Despite focusing on washing himself, his mind replayed the scene in the sewer over, reminding him of just how it had felt to have that hulking mass pressing him against the wall. John shivered, his cock starting to fill with the memory. He turned the tap until ice cold water pelted him.

He finally climbed out of the shower when he had started to shiver, teeth chattering violently. The cold water had done its job though, his dick was definitely not interested in anything more than just getting warm.

John towelled off and climbed into a pair of sweats, sliding a t-shirt on and climbing into bed. He would deal with the soiled clothes later.

Sleep claimed him quickly, exhaustion from his earlier activities dragging him under without much difficulty. He dreamed of a solid body pressing against him and warm breath ghosting over his ear.

—

John panted on the ground, his arms having given out finally after the ridiculous number of press ups he’d done. He’d been pushing himself too hard, he knew that, but it was all he could do to occupy himself.

Since the unfortunate disaster in the sewers, he’d been doing everything he could to not think about it, not dwell on the sudden loss of his mind. It hadn’t been working, though. No matter what he did, John still found himself thinking about that large body pressing against his own. He wanted to know more about the person that was living in the sewers. He _needed_ to know who they were. But so far, John had managed to control that urge and hadn’t been back to the down there in days. Well, three days. He really was scraping the barrel if that was what he counted as a win.

Sighing, he pushed himself off the ground, dusting the dirt from his pants. Whoever had looked after this cave before John was gifted it didn’t leave any cleaning supplies. Not that cleaning a cave was high on his list of things to do. If there was a little less dust over everything, though, John was sure the place would be a touch more habitable.

He grabbed his water bottle, sucking down water and staring around the dimly lit cave. Not for the first time, he contemplated whether or not he should move his meagre belongings down there. It made more sense to consolidate his lives. He was fast running out of money and without a job or income, things were starting to look bleak.

“Fuck,” he sighed, gripping the bottle in his hand. He’d worked so hard to get onto the force, to rise through the ranks, and he’d thrown it all away. For what? A dusty, dank cave and a stupid encounter in the sewers?

He swore again, louder, and threw the bottle as hard as he could.

This was what his life was reduced to.

A phone ringing stopped John from destroying anything. He stalked to the desk and snatched his phone up. “What,” he snarled without bothering to glance at the caller ID.

“Uh… Hey, John,” Adam’s quiet voice answered.

The anger flickered out of him at Adam’s tone, his instincts kicking in. “What happened?” he asked, already making a list of things he needed to deal with whatever the problem was.

“Uh… Well…”

“Adam,” John warned, his temper already frayed from his earlier anger. He didn’t have the patience to deal with a stupid phone call if it wasn’t important.

“Kevin’s gone,” Adam blurted out.

John froze, gripping the phone tightly. “What do you mean ‘gone’?”

“He wanted to find the monster in the sewers—”

“Fuck,” John yelled, punching the wall next to him. “He’s still down there?”

“Yes…”

“Don’t let anyone else leave the home,” John commanded and ended the call. He had no idea how long Kevin had been gone for but if that guy had found him… John didn’t want to think about it. Kevin was a sweet little seven year old that had nothing to do with the dark, seedy world of Gotham. John had only one option.

He had to go back into the sewers.

—

John made it all of two steps away from the bottom of the ladder before he was pushed face first into a wall.

“Why have you returned?”

A shiver travelled through his body. It was the first time he had heard his attacker speak, and fuck. He knew that voice. “Bane,” he whispered.

“Why have you returned?” Bane repeated, pressing harder.

“Kevin,” John whimpered as Bane twisted an arm behind John’s back. It was nothing like the last time John had been in the sewers. There was no arousal coursing through his body. His arm being twisted was painful and he worried that if he moved, it would break. He’d seen the things Bane had done during the occupation. He’d seen what Bane was capable of.

There was no response from Bane and if it wasn’t for the solid presence against his back, John would have thought he had left.

“Kevin. He’s a kid from St Swithin’s. The orphanage. He just made a mistake, didn’t know what he was doing,” John rambled, trying to find a way to explain Kevin that would make Bane feel something, anything at all.

Bane didn’t say a word, just stepped back, releasing John’s arm and leading him further into the tunnels.

John grabbed at his shoulder, massaging the aching muscle while he followed Bane. Everything looked the same as it had the last time he was down there and John steadfastly ignored the particular spot where Bane had pinned him against the wall, focusing instead on not staring at the way Bane took up most of the space in the tunnel. He really should take a deeper look at his psyche for why he found Bane’s large form so appealing.

The tunnel opened up into storm runoff, the rushing water covering almost every other noise. Well, at least it made sense how Bane had been hiding down there since the occupation had ended and how he didn’t smell like he had been living in a sewer.

The lingering scent of leather and smoke flowed through John’s mind, remembering just how good being surrounded by it had been. He tamped the memory down as his eyes landed on Kevin. The kid was sitting in one corner, knees pulled up to his chest and his head buried in them. It didn’t look as though he was injured in any way but John had intimate knowledge that wounds could be so much more than physical.

John rushed over. “Kevin, oh thank God you’re okay. You are, aren’t you?” The words flowed from John’s mouth, he couldn’t hold them back. It only hit him at that moment just how worried he had really been about Kevin. Anything could have happened to the kid, Bane was a monster. “If you’ve hurt him in any way,” John threatened, standing to face Bane.

Bane stared at him, face impassive. John’s threat clearly meant nothing to him.

“Let the kid go.”

Bane’s eyes flicked over to Kevin then back to John, brows furrowing just enough to let John know he was thinking.

“I’ll switch places with him,” John said, trying the only thing he could think of. Surely toying with a child was beneath Bane. Someone who could fight back would be more interesting. Wouldn’t they?

“He is nothing to me,” Bane said evenly.

“Then let him go.”

Bane waved a hand and turned away from John in a clear dismissal. That was easier than John had expected it to be.

He rushed to Kevin’s side and helped the kid up. Taking note of his tear-stained face and the quiet sobs that still wracked his small body. John wrapped an arm around the kid’s shoulders, shushing him as he led the way to the tunnel that would lead out of the sewers.

“Are you not a man of your word?” Bane said, stopping John instantly.

“What?” he asked, turning around to find Bane watching him, hands tucked into his vest.

“You said you would take his place.”

John shook his head, maneuvering himself so he stood in front of Kevin. “You never said anything.”

“You offered,” Bane pointed out.

He was going to kick himself for letting those words slip from his mouth. He had offered. He had offered himself up in exchange for letting Kevin go and now he was going to pay.

John nodded once and turned around, crouching in front of Kevin. “You remember the way back to St Swithin’s?” Kevin nodded, tears still rolling down his cheeks. “I need you to go back there. Don’t let anyone else come into the sewers, can you do that for me?” Kevin nodded again but hesitated. He didn’t want to leave John behind.

John’s heart clenched as he realised that would be the last time he ever saw one of the boys from the orphanage. He was never going to talk to any of them again and they would never know what happened to him. “I’ll be fine,” he said, his voice tight as the lie ate away at him. “Off you go.” John smiled, gently pushing Kevin towards the exit. He hoped the kid made it home alright and that Father Reilly looked after them all.

When Kevin was finally out of sight, John stood, his thighs burning from having crouched for so long. His heart pounded against his chest, hands clammy as he turned to face Bane only Bane wasn’t there anymore. John frowned, wondering how he hadn’t even heard Bane move. The man was huge. How was he so light on his feet?

With Bane not around, John turned, seeing his opportunity to escape. He only made it three steps into the tunnel before he was slammed into the wall, the air rushing out of him with the impact.

“Leaving so soon?”

—

John lost track of days.

It wasn’t so much that he wasn’t aware of time passing, because he was. It was more that without a proper light source, it was difficult to determine whether it was day or night. That was messing with John more than Bane’s silence was.

Since the day John had swapped places with Kevin, Bane hadn’t uttered a single word to him. It was unnerving, being around someone like Bane without anything to say to one another. John had no real idea why Bane had insisted John stick to his word. As far as he could figure out, Bane had absolutely no use for another person in his life.

Bane had perfected whatever life it was he had in the sewers. Each day he would sit, cleaning his guns. John had no idea where they were being stored, but every day Bane had a gun and he was cleaning it. He had to admire Bane’s dedication to his equipment, though.

There was an appreciation there, a deeper admiration of the weapons that John couldn’t quite understand. Sure, he got that you had to look after your weapons. If you didn’t respect them, you had no right to use one. But Bane didn’t seem to be _using_ the weapons. He was just cleaning them and that was what John didn’t understand. Why would Bane need to clean anything if he was doing fine underground? No one had noticed him, well besides John and the boys at St Swithin’s.

John sighed and watched Bane as he reassembled yet another gun. He couldn’t name the weapons Bane had in his possession. John had seen plenty of different guns during his time on the force, but everything Bane had looked as though it should have come with some massive safety warning telling you to back away quickly.

He thought about asking Bane to teach him but that would only encourage the idea that he was alright living in the sewers with Bane which he most definitely wasn’t.

John had allowed himself to have good long looks at Bane, studying the larger man. It was because John was fascinated. Bane without his mask was so much more human than John had imagined.

Despite scars ran over Bane’s lips, they still looked incredibly plush and John frequently found himself wondering what they would feel like pressed against his own. Without the mask, Bane looked softer, less like a killing machine and more human. Though, John wasn’t stupid enough to say that aloud.

John told himself he was only looking because he wanted to learn Bane’s tells, to figure out this man that had tried to destroy his city. As he fell asleep each night, he curled into himself, aching and desperate for release as he dreamed of a solid body holding him down.

—

Bane was nowhere to be found.

John had examined every bit of the runoff that he knew he had access to and Bane wasn’t anywhere to be seen. A thrill ran through him. This was his moment. This was his chance to escape. Bane would come back to an empty sewer and John would find a way to prepare for when Bane came for him. The cave had plenty of supplies. No one knew where it was. It was likely John could live there for the rest of his life without Bane ever finding him.

John smiled. All he had to do was get to the manhole and he was home free.

He made it to the ladder, one hand on the rung when a voice called out.

“I did not take you for a coward, John Blake.”

John stiffened at his name. He’d never told it to Bane. Was there anything that man didn’t know?

“What do you want from me?” John asked without turning around.

“Nothing,” Bane responded.

The sound of his steps quieting was the only way John knew Bane was no longer there. He knew it was mostly for his own benefit, Bane allowing John to hear his footfalls.

John banged his head against the ladder. He was an idiot of the highest order. What was he doing? Why was he contemplating turning around and following Bane? He had his chance to leave. Why did it feel like that was the wrong choice?

“Fuck,” he hissed. With one final look at his freedom slipping away, John turned from the ladder and walked back to the runoff. Bane was at the single table, laying his coat over the chair. John steadfastly ignored the exposed muscles. “What am I supposed to do?” he asked in frustration.

“Fight,” Bane said.

It was the only warning John got before Bane came at him, stalking him like he was prey. His stomach flipped. No amount of training in the academy had prepared him for this kind of attack.

A fist caught him in the stomach, forcing him to double over with a groan. The punch was quickly followed by a whack to his head.

John stumbled, his head ringing. He blindly reached out, trying to find something, anything at all to steady himself. John’s hand collided with a warm, firm body. Fingers curled around his wrist, squeezing hard enough that John winced.

Bane tugged at his arm, forcing John to reach out his other hand to catch himself. Bane grabbed the other wrist, squeezing both tightly as he pushed John back, holding him up when he tripped. The speed surprised John. He wasn’t ready for it, was still dizzy from the blow to his head. His head collided with the wall.

He was getting sick of being pressed against walls.

John tried to push back, tried to find an opening in Bane’s offense. But there wasn’t any give. Not even a smidge.

“Fuck off,” John bit out.

Bane pulled John forward then slammed him back, John’s head cracking against the brick again. His eyes fluttered shut, a wave of nausea washing over him. Bane released his hold on John’s wrists.

John sighed a breath of relief which was quickly cut off by Bane’s fingers closing around his throat. His eyes shot open as he fumbled, fingers grasping at Bane’s thicker ones. Breath was hard to come by as Bane’s fingers tightened. His eyes met Bane’s crystal clear ones. Those eyes told so many stories and—if his windpipe wasn’t being crushed—John would have been tempted to ask about them. As it was, there was a small flicker of arousal building alongside his fear. He tried to stop it, but Bane was pressing him into the wall, using his strength against John and it was too much.

“Do it,” he choked, hoping the taunt would force Bane to kill him faster, to just get it over with so he wouldn’t have to suffer the humiliation of getting another erection from being overpowered.

Bane stared at him, breath lightly brushing over John’s face.

John wondered if Bane was going to keep toying with him. Instead, Bane tossed him to the side and John slid across the floor, crashing into the cot he’d been sleeping on. He gasped for air, his fingers holding his bruised neck. He looked up in time to see Bane’s retreating form.

John climbed onto the cot, curling onto his side. His thoughts turned to how Bane could have killed him but hadn’t. It would have been so easy for Bane to squeeze just a little bit harder. John curled into himself, hugging his body tighter. Sleep pulled him under, his fears chasing him in his dreams.

—

John woke chasing fleeting thoughts of warm fingers brushing through his hair. His eyes fluttered open, catching on Bane hovering over him.

“You should not sleep,” he said, pressing a damp cloth to John’s forehead.

John swallowed hard, taking in Bane’s face. There wasn’t anything else he could do. Bane was the only thing in his field of vision. Moving his head hurt too much.

“Drink this,” Bane said, holding a glass of water in front of John.

His stomach turned at the thought of ingesting anything and he turned his head away from Bane despite the throbbing in his skull.

“Drink,” Bane insisted, grabbing John and forcing him to sit up.

John’s head swam, black spots filling his vision and he reached out, clutching at Bane’s vest. The large presence grounded John, helped him stay steady through the dizzy spell.

Bane didn’t move while John held on, just patiently waited while John came back to himself.

When his vision cleared, John loosened his grip on Bane’s vest and leaned back a little, giving himself enough room to avoid the smell of leather and smoke that seemed to cling to Bane. In his weakened state, John wasn’t sure he would have had the awareness to control himself.

“Drink.” Bane pressed the glass to John’s lips and tipped it up.

John gulped the water, only realising how parched he was as the cool liquid flowed down his throat. How long had he been asleep?

“Twenty minutes,” Bane answered, pulling the glass away.

John looked up, wiping at his lips. He hadn’t realised he’d actually asked that question aloud.

“Take this.” Bane grabbed John’s hand and placed a small white tablet in his palm.

He stared at his hand for much longer than was appropriate. John knew there was something wrong. He couldn’t focus properly. Concussion. That was it, wasn’t it? All the blows to his head that Bane had so ruthlessly delivered.

Bane forced John’s hand to his mouth, ensuring that John placed the pill in before lifting the glass of water back up.

John eagerly swallowed the water, draining the glass. “Why are you doing this?”

Bane tilted his head, brows twitching ever so slightly.

John groaned and closed his eyes, leaning back on the cot. His head pounded with the movement, the dizzy sensation returning along with the nausea. Fuck he was going to murder Bane if he ever got the chance.

“You cannot go back to sleep yet,” Bane said, his voice slightly quieter, suggesting he had moved away from John’s cot.

“I’d like to see you stop me,” John muttered, his breath slowing.

He was drifting off, his breaths even and heavy, when the whole world tilted and John collided with the cold and wet ground. “What the fuck,” he yelled, his head pounding with the sudden movement as he scrambled to gain his footing. He reached out to steady himself, his vision clouding over. John’s hand scraped over a warm torso and he latched on, fingers twisting into the soft cloth.

Bane allowed John to pillow his head against his chest, to breathe deeply, and twist the fingers of his other hand into the back of his shirt. Bane allowed all of it for thirty seconds before he grabbed John’s chin and forced him to look up. Their eyes met and while John was lost in their ever-changing colour, Bane seemed to be studying his.

“Sleep. I will wake you in twenty minutes,” Bane said, pushing at John’s chin with only enough force for him to understand he was being dismissed.

John released his grip on Bane’s shirt, hardly steady enough to be on his own feet. He managed, somehow, to move back to his cot and righted it. Even though he’d lived through it, John couldn’t believe Bane had actually tipped him from the bed. He shot a glance over at Bane and found the larger man watching him. Warmth flushed through him when Bane nodded, a silent gesture of approval.

He climbed onto the cot, dragging the thin blanket over his body as he tried to ignore the feelings coursing through him. He was fucked. So utterly fucked.

—

Bane was letting his punches through. It was painfully obvious. Painful because John’s knuckles were red and aching. Obvious because Bane was smirking. Those scarred lips twisted wryly at Johns’ expense.

“Fight back,” John bit out through heaving breaths.

They’d been at it for an hour and Bane hadn’t even broken a sweat. It was infuriating. Frustration bubbled under his skin, mounting with every hit Bane dodged with ease.

“Hit me,” John huffed. He wanted a challenge. He didn’t want to be coddled. Whatever Bane thought he was doing, John couldn’t see it, and he was just getting steadily pissed off.

John landed another hit to Bane’s torso. There wasn’t any give, no softness to Bane’s body, and pain shot through the bones in John’s hand. He tried not to focus on it too much; the warm, solid body he was laying into, but it was easier said than done.

Bane blocked his next punch, fingers wrapping around John’s forearm. John tugged, trying to loosen Bane’s grip but Bane pulled him in, overpowering him with ease. Their bodies collided, John’s smaller frame pressing into Bane’s larger one. John’s face smooshed into Bane’s chest.

Bane’s familiar warm smell hit him like a slap to the face and John jerked back, somehow managing to pull free from Bane’s hold.

“I’m done,” John said, voice rough to his own ears.

He made a quick retreat to the area that had been designated as the bathing space. Blankets had been hung up as privacy since John had complained. He had never been more grateful for that small amount of privacy before.

He pressed a hand to his erection, hissing at the pressure. Frustration coursed through him. He was not going to jerk off. He was not going to give in.

John closed his eyes, squeezing them tight as he tried to think of something else, anything other than the way it had felt to be pressed against Bane or the smell that still lingered on his skin.

“Fuck,” he growled.

It had been weeks since that moment in the sewers. Weeks since John had had a moment of release. It was just because it had been so long. That was why he slipped his pants down enough to pull his dick out. That was why he wrapped his fingers around his aching erection, hissing and biting his lip to try and hold back more sounds.

John squeezed and ran his thumb over the tip, eliciting a soft whimper. He wondered if Bane’s fingers would feel rough against him, if Bane would hold him tight.

“Oh fuck,” he muttered, his hand stilling. He couldn’t think of Bane while he was jerking off. He had to calm down, had to think of something else.

It was impossible, though. Bane was on the other side of the blanket doing God knew what but John imagined Bane having a similar problem. Let himself think that Bane was just as affected by John as John was by him. His hand started sliding over his cock again, the rough friction a perfect addition to his thoughts. John’s breath hitched as he rubbed his thumb over the head, spreading precome over his dick.

“Oh Bane,” he moaned as the slickness made his hand move faster. He gave himself this one moment of weakness to think of Bane and those pillowy lips. Let himself think of how they would feel against him. Let himself wonder if Bane would be rough when he touched John.

He came, spilling over his hand, biting his lip. It didn’t cover the moan, or the way his breath was coming in harsh gulps.

John quickly cleaned up, wiping himself and pulling his pants up as he turned around. His eyes fell on Bane who was standing, one hand pushing the blanket out of the way. Bane’s face was unreadable and John flushed, burning up with embarrassment.

“Excuse me,” he muttered and pushed past Bane.

Bane grabbed his arm, fingers gentler than John was used to. “You said my name,” Bane rasped.

John couldn’t look up, couldn’t bare to see whatever horror was most likely written on Bane’s face because of John’s moment of weakness. He couldn’t believe this had happened. He’d given in just once and he had been caught. It was just his luck, really.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” John said as calmly as he could manage and pulled his arm free, walking over to his cot.

Maybe if he pretended nothing had happened, Bane would get the hint and pretend as well. He could only try.

—

John folded the spare pair of trousers Bane had given him and slid them under the cot to join the rest his meagre belongings.

Since he’d been in the sewers, Bane had supplied John with a few things to make his _stay_ there more comfortable. John wasn’t sure if it was an act of goodwill, because Bane cared, or just because Bane didn’t want to have to deal with John complaining, but it was appreciated. Not that John was ever going to admit that to Bane.

He took pride in his living spaces and—despite the fact he had been living in a sewer for two months—he kept his area neat and tidy. Nothing was out of place. Everything he owned lived under the cot. It had become his storage space since there really wasn’t anywhere else to store things.

Bane had made an effort to make the place look a little less like it was a stormwater runoff sewer. But that could only be slightly covered. It was kind of hard to pretend it was anything else when John could easily hear the rushing water.

When his things were put away, John sat on the cot, running a hand through his hair. His thoughts turned to how he was going to have to get a haircut and wondered if he would be able to convince Bane to let him topside to do so.

Thinking of the larger man, John was reminded of how Bane had caught him and he flushed. It was embarrassing to have been found out like that. There had been a few moments since that day that made John wonder if Bane had been trying to make him squirm. Bane had taken to being slightly rougher with John, paying closer attention to every move John made and John was pretty sure Bane had been categorising John’s breathing patterns in relation to certain things Bane did.

It was difficult, trying to pretend that nothing Bane did affected him, that John wasn’t completely wrecked by the larger man. He wasn’t entirely convinced he’d managed to hide it all that well.

John hadn’t been brave enough to broach the subject of what happened, or how much Bane had seen or heard. He would much rather drown himself in the runoff than talk to Bane about his inappropriate physical response to the larger man. Bane hadn’t brought it up either so John was counting it as a win. If both of them ignored it—or possibly Bane just forgot about it entirely—their lives could go back to the strange normality they had settled into. But the world wasn’t willing to give in to John’s plans, apparently.

His eyes caught on a fluttering across the room and he couldn’t stop himself from looking up. The blankets that separated the bathing area from the rest of the space were parted slightly and swishing in the slight breeze, exposing Bane.

The larger man was naked, turned away from John. But John’s mouth went dry at the sight. He licked his lips, unable to tear his eyes away. A large scar ran the length of Bane’s back and faintly John registered that he shouldn’t want to lick his way up it, shouldn’t want to trace every ridge with his lips.

His dick twitched, filling as Bane turned to the side, using a cloth to wipe down his thighs. At the new angle, John had a wonderful view of Bane’s cock. From the distance, it was difficult to tell just how large it was but John was fairly certain he’d never seen a dick that size in his entire life. Not even in porn. He should have been intimidated—terrified even—but John only wanted to see how much he could fit in his mouth.

“Oh shit,” he muttered and forced his gaze away from Bane’s naked body, curling up on the cot. He faced away from the bathing area, not letting himself give in to the urge to roll over and stare, watch as Bane went through his bathing routine. If he did that, John knew he would never be able to look Bane in the eye again. As it was, he was going to find it near impossible with what he’d seen.

How had he never considered the size of Bane’s dick before? It made sense that it would be considerable since Bane was huge. But really, no one in the world would have guessed that size right.

John shook his head, desperately trying to shake the image from his head. It was futile. Even with his eyes closed, John could still see Bane naked, washing himself.

He heard Bane moving around behind him and John stoically did not roll over. Instead, he pretended to be asleep, letting his breath even out into long deep huffs. Whether or not Bane was fooled, John didn’t care. He couldn’t face the larger man, couldn’t look at him without turning bright red, he was sure. There was no way he was going to be able to look at Bane without imagining him naked and the sizeable assets he had. Maybe if he slept, he would forget what he had seen.

John knew it was highly unlikely but he gave it a shot all the same.

—

“I don’t care what you think you know about Gotham. I grew up here and it’s worth saving.” John had been saying the same thing—in various different ways—since the argument had started. He wasn’t entirely sure _how_ the argument had started but he wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Gotham was his home and no one was allowed to say such terrible things about it.

Sure, Gotham had its problems, but they were workable. If people only tried, John was sure things would get better. That was why he wanted to help, why he had gone out onto the streets trying to clean them up.

“You have seen the corruption,” Bane pointed out, his tone infuriatingly calm. “You cannot defend the selfishness of the wealthy.”

“Corruption?” John snorted. “You’re the one who’s corrupt.”

Bane quirked his head, eyes questioning.

John had been trying his hardest to not blush like a teenager every time he looked at Bane. It was hard not thinking about how John now knew what Bane looked like without any clothes on. Those images had haunted his dreams and every morning since that day, John had woken up aching and rutting against the rough sheet covering his cot.

“You tried to blow the city up,” John pointed out. “How can you claim you aren’t corrupt?”

“The corruption has blinded you.”

John stood, huffing and pacing. Their argument was going in circles. Neither of them were going to give in. John could feel his frustration mounting—frustration with his impotence when it came to protecting Gothamites and Bane’s lack of understanding. How was he supposed to make Bane see that despite Gotham’s flaws, it was still worthy?

“You can’t hold everyone accountable for the actions of a few.”

“You do not see,” Bane said, eyes tracking John as he paced.

“No,” he conceded. “But I’ll never see what it is that you think is wrong with Gotham.”

“You are a fool.”

John froze. He turned his head slowly until he met Bane’s eyes. There was only calm and that made John see red. Bane was impassive. He was saying that Gotham needed to be burned to the ground so a better city could rise from the ashes and he was calm as anything, unaffected by what he was implying.

“You’re kidding, right?” John asked, unable to hold his tongue. Maybe it was stupid but John had never been particularly smart where emotions were involved.

“Do not ask questions you know the answer to.”

“Fuck off,” John growled, hands curling into fists at his sides.

“You were an officer. You have seen the worst this city offers and yet you will still defend it. Why?”

John squeezed his hands tighter, reminding himself that he didn’t need to punch Bane, no matter how satisfying it would be. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand more than you think, John Blake.”

John’s breath caught, far too aware of Bane’s gaze burning through him. He felt hot and embarrassed, remembering how Bane had found him jerking off, remembering how he had watched Bane wash himself. John shook his head, just a tiny shake and turned away from Bane. He couldn’t face the larger man, couldn’t face his own shame.

“Do not turn your back on an opponent,” Bane said, his breath hot against John’s neck.

John shivered, briefly wondering when Bane had moved closer, how he hadn’t noticed. “I’m not fighting you today.”

Bane’s fingers tightened around the back of John’s neck and John stiffened at the brush of warm fingers pressing into his sensitive flesh.

A thumb ran down the side, snapping John out of his stupor. He spun, slipping from Bane’s grasp. He vaguely realised that Bane hadn’t been holding him all that tightly if he could get away with such ease.

“I said no,” John growled.

The words were barely out of his mouth when Bane gripped John’s upper arms and forced him backwards until his back was pressed firmly against the wall. He’d lost count of how many times Bane had pressed him to a wall, but it irritated him. He was supposed to be getting better at fighting the brute but Bane still overpowered him with ease. The fact it aroused John so much was an added problem.

“You do not get to choose,” Bane rasped, digging his fingers in deeper.

John winced and tried to angle his body away from Bane but he just took it as a sign of John fighting back and pressed the length of his body against John’s. He wanted to escape, wanted to run away from Bane and the sharp, spicy that was filling his senses. But there wasn’t any way he could get free.

Bane was a solid, immovable force and the more John put up a fight, the harder Bane seemed to press. It was an exquisite kind of torture.

“Let me go,” he managed to croak out, ignoring the way Bane’s thigh was pressing against his aching erection.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of,” Bane said, his tone slightly off.

John tilted his head up enough to look into Bane’s eyes and found the larger man staring at him. Not in a horrible way that made John think he was insane, but more in a way that looked as though Bane wanted to know every inch of him. A shiver ran through him. He shouldn’t have been aroused and he bit down on the sudden desire to rut against Bane all over again.

“Let me go,” he iterated hopefully with more strength than he was currently feeling.

“But your body is aroused,” Bane said as matter of factly as though he was stating it was raining.

John wanted to bury himself in the ground, wanted to drown himself the runoff to save himself from further embarrassment.

“You said my name when you pleasured yourself,” Bane continued, oblivious to John’s shame. “Do not try to hide from me, John. It could be mutually beneficial.”

John’s mouth dropped open, positive he’d misheard Bane. “What?”

“I do not like repeating myself,” Bane growled and pressed his leg against John’s erection, eliciting a moan before John could tamp down on it. “I know you saw me bathing. Did you appreciate it?” Bane asked, his lips brushing against John’s ear.

“What? No. I—didn’t see anything,” John stammered.

“Do not lie.”

John sucked in a harsh breath as Bane’s fingers travelled up from his arms, brushing lightly over his neck until they curled into John’s hair and forced him to look at Bane. A small moan slipped from his lips at the tugging. He couldn’t figure out Bane’s game but John’s dick was screaming that he just agree to whatever Bane wanted, no matter the consequences.

“Give in,” Bane whispered, lips brushing over the shell of John’s ear.

“Oh God,” he moaned and gave in, surging up and pressing his lips to Bane's. They were soft, so much softer than John had been imagining and the scars running across them only fuelled his desire.

Bane licked into his mouth, pressing his hips more firmly against John’s.

The sensation was overwhelming. He hadn’t thought he would get to feel that again, Bane’s larger body pressing against his own. Well, not in a sexual way at least, and now John was so overwhelmed by the friction he was creating by wriggling his hips, he was pretty sure he was going to come before the fun actually started.

“No, no, no,” John panted, breaking the kiss and pressing his head back against the wall. “I don’t want to come in my pants again.”

Bane quirked a brow at him, his lips twisting up in a satisfied smirk as he pressed his thigh against John’s erection.

“Oh shut up,” he hissed, hitting Bane’s chest to make him step back. It was all well and good that he was finally getting some action, but he couldn’t let Bane take control of everything. John was all about equal opportunities and he couldn’t deny the fact that he _really_ wanted to see Bane lose control. He wanted to be the one to elicit some sort of uncontrolled response.

Before Bane could grab at John again, he slipped to his knees, fingers reaching for Bane’s fly. Already John could see the impressive outline of Bane’s cock pressing against the stiff trousers. His chest constricted—remembering how large it had looked—and John glanced up at Bane, ready to give up. But Bane was looking down at him, lips parted, eyes dark, and John knew he would give anything to keep Bane looking at him like that.

John undid Bane’s trousers, easing them down before reaching for the briefs that were doing a piss-poor job of holding Bane’s cock. He slipped his fingers beneath the waistband and, while still looking at Bane, John leaned forward, nuzzling his clothed erection.

Bane hissed, a quiet intake of breath that John would have missed if he wasn’t paying close attention to Bane and every reaction he could gather from the man. It was turning into a small challenge for himself. John wanted to reduce Bane to an uncontrollable mess. He wanted to push Bane to the limit, to see how far he could push before Bane just took him. John shivered at the thought and eased Bane’s briefs down.

John swallowed hard. Bane’s cock was so much bigger up close. So much more daunting that he had anticipated, but John wanted it. He pushed Bane’s trousers and briefs to the ground before reaching out. His touch was light, tentative, afraid of breaking whatever moment was hovering over them.

Bane was impatient though, thick fingers threading through John’s hair until Bane’s palm rested over the curve of his skull. The power in those fingers sent a shiver through him. Bane could crush him with half a thought, and that shouldn’t have been as arousing as it was. Bane pressed his head forward, a silent gesture for John to hurry up.

It was more than enough for John. He leaned forward, tongue flat as he licked Bane’s cock from base to tip. A moan fell from John’s lips. He couldn’t help himself, not with the taste of Bane on his tongue. John slipped the head into his mouth, lips sliding over the silky skin.

John stopped with Bane’s cock half in his mouth. It was so long, he knew he couldn’t fit the whole thing in his mouth, but Bane’s hand against his head was insistent sliding his cock further into John’s mouth until he hit the back.

While it wasn’t his favourite thing in the world—being choked—somehow with Bane’s cock in his mouth, John couldn’t care less. He wanted to be used, wanted to be turned into something purely for Bane’s pleasure. He relaxed, his fingers slipping from Bane’s cock and let the larger man set the pace. Let Bane use him as he pleased.

Bane’s fingers tightened in his hair, gripping hard as he thrusted, hitting the back of John’s throat with each slide in. Drool trickled down his chin and tears leaked over his cheeks. It was just on the side of too much and John’s arms wound around Bane’s thighs, holding tightly.

John whimpered as Bane slid from his mouth. He wasn’t finished. Bane hadn’t finished. He looked up in time to watch as Bane slid his hands under John’s arms and hauled him up, over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold. He squawked, whacking Bane’s back until a firm hand landed on his arse, stinging through his trousers.

Bane finally set him on the ground, his legs nearly giving out when he was let go. John watched as Bane grabbed blankets and threw them in a pile next to their cots. He couldn’t get his head around what Bane was doing. John wanted to go back to the wall, wanted to have Bane in his mouth again. In his head, the blowjob had been going amazingly.

John wiped at his chin, suddenly self-conscious about the drool. It was the only thing he could think of that would’ve stopped Bane before he could finish. He was thinking of places he could hide from Bane so he wouldn’t have to flush with embarrassment every time the larger man looked at him.

He had turned around when Bane gripped his arms and dragged him to the pile of blankets on the floor.

“What the—?” he huffed, landing with a soft thud.

Bane made short work of John’s clothes, hovering over John once they were both naked. Bane’s hands were on either side of John’s head, a reminder of how much larger he was. John shivered, anticipation building with every breath.

He reached out a hand, fingers trailing lightly over the swell of Bane’s chest. John had seen Bane without a shirt on several times when they were training but, at that moment, it was like seeing it for the first time again.

John flattened his palm against Bane’s chest, feeling the steady heartbeat. It was maddening. Bane was unaffected by John. Everything about him was cool, calm, and collected while John couldn’t stop writing beneath him. The warmth radiating from Bane was only adding to the build up, to the anticipation of what Bane would do next.

He didn’t expect Bane to wrap a hand around his dick. He didn’t expect the sudden spark that had him coming with a harsh shout, arching off the blankets and into Bane.

John was so embarrassed he tried to hide his face but Bane gripped his chin, forcing John to look at him. Bane pressed his lips to John’s in a bruising kiss, dragging a moan from him. He was sensitive and Bane’s hips were pressing into his own but it felt good. He’d wanted Bane to take what he needed and he finally was.

Bane broke the kiss, leaving John panting as he pushed himself up.

“Bane,” John whimpered, cold without the larger man covering him.

Bane hushed him and settled between John’s legs, not hovering over him like he had before. John wanted to reach out and pull the larger man back. His fingers twitched with the desire but Bane was faster and rubbed a slick finger around his opening.

John jolted at the touch, eyes shooting to Bane’s.

“Don’t move,” Bane said. One hand settled on John’s stomach, the weight of it keeping him still as Bane’s thick finger pressed into him.

He moaned, hips shifting a little at the intrusion. It had been so long since he’d been with anyone and John’s fingers were nothing compared to Bane’s. He whimpered at the thought of fitting Bane inside him at all but he wanted it, wanted to try.

Bane’s finger sliding in and out, a slow drag, taking John’s mind off the size of Bane’s cock. The slight pain was delicious and John’s cock started to fill again. Moans and sounds fell from his mouth as Bane pressed his hand more insistently against John’s stomach in an effort to keep him still. It was near impossible though, as a second finger joined the first.

John hissed at the stretch, fingers curling into the blankets beneath him. “More,” he moaned, hips wiggling when Bane’s fingers stilled inside him. John wasn’t interested in going slowly. He was aching to feel Bane, to know what it was like to have Bane inside him.

“No,” Bane murmured, twisting his fingers inside John.

He whimpered, fingers clutching desperately at the blankets as he tried to fuck himself on Bane’s fingers. Bane was stronger and held John, the pressure of his hand against John’s stomach enough to remind John of how casually Bane wielded his power.

Bane smirked down at him and slid his fingers out, lightly brushing a slick trail up to John’s balls. Fingers curled around his dick and pumped twice before pulling away.

“You fucking tease,” John muttered.

Bane flipped him and delivered a firm slap his arse. Fingers dug into his hips as John tried to flee from the assault and dragged him back.

“Up,” Bane demanded, guiding John onto all fours.

“Bane, please,” he whimpered, ready to all out beg for Bane to just get on with it. He knew begging wouldn’t help, though. Bane was probably the kind of kinky bastard that would draw it out even more if he knew just how much John wanted him.

Bane lined himself up, cock thick and hot as he pressed into John. It was slow, so slow, and Bane obviously had the patience of a fucking saint. John was gripping the blankets, fighting hard to not crumple face-first into them. He tried to press his hips back to take Bane deeper but thick fingers dug into his hips, holding him in place.

“I won’t break, dammit,” John complained.

“You come when I say,” Bane commanded.

John nodded, willing to agree to anything Bane said as long as it got him fucked.

His acquiescence was all it took for Bane to snap his hips, driving himself deeper into John. John’s breath stuck in his chest at the sudden force. The only thought in his head was ‘more’. He had never been fucked so well in his entire life and John was pretty sure those words were tumbling from his lips. He had no control over anything coming out of his mouth, noises, words, or otherwise. He couldn’t keep anything in with Bane pounded him. All John could focus on was Bane’s hot length sliding inside him and the mouth pressing to his neck; hot, wet, and insistent.

John whimpered, heat coiling low in his belly. His orgasm was building and there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it, no matter how much he wanted to. It was too much, Bane driving firmly into him, hips snapping hard.

Bane huffed into John’s neck, short pants the only sign that he was getting close to his own release.

“Come, John Blake,” Bane rumbled and bit down on the sensitive point between John’s neck and shoulder.

Jame came with a harsh gasp, no hand helping him over the edge. He collapsed face first in the blankets, his arms unable to support him any longer.

Bane’s hips faltered with the sudden change in angle, stuttering as he tipped over a few thrusts after John. He came silently, hips pressed harshly against John’s.

They stayed pressed to one another for a minute or so, not long enough for John to get his breath back before Bane slid out of him. John whimpered, unsure if it was because he missed the presence of Bane inside him or because he was so sensitive after coming twice in such a short period.

Bane cleaned them both up with a damp cloth and covered John with the blankets.

“Sleep,” he commanded, voice unchanged after coming.

John envied Bane for being so unaffected by the whole thing. He was falling asleep already and reached out, fingers wiggling in Bane’s direction.

“Stay,” he said though it was more of a question.

Bane sighed, put out by John’s request but climbed in next to him and pulled John against him, spooning in their nest of blankets.

John exhaled contentedly and held onto Bane’s arm, the one wrapped around his chest and fell asleep faster than he had in years.

—

John was lying in their nest. It was the most comfortable spot in their little part of the sewer and John wanted comfortable. His body ached, every inch of him was sore but he liked it. The ache in his muscles reminded him that Bane had been there. It was a slightly worrying though but John refused to dwell on it. He was slightly terrified of what he would find if he looked too closely at the feelings he was developing for Bane. Nothing good was going to come from delving deeper. He was just making the most of a difficult situation. At least that was what he was telling himself. If he thought it enough, he might start believing it.

“Why did you come to Gotham?” John asked, unable to hold his tongue in his sleepy, sated state.

“I was following orders,” Bane replied, back turned to John as he sorted their meal.

John had complained about not having enough food in his system to continue training or having sex. Bane had taken that as a sign of needing to feed John and had promptly disengaged John’s limbs to climb out of their nest. He was crouched, naked and entirely unembarrassed. John’s eyes lingered over Bane’s form, admiring it openly now that he was allowed to.

“But whose orders?”

“Talia al Ghul.”

John frowned and tried to recall the names of those he knew had been part of the occupation but couldn’t recall that one. “Who?”

“You knew her as Miranda Tate,” Bane said without turning around as though he hadn’t just dropped a massive bomb.

John sat up, blankets pooling at his waist. “You’re joking.”

“Why would I joke about this?” Bane turned around, his brows drawn together.

“She— I helped her. She was on our side,” John floundered, his mind spinning a mile a minute. Miranda Tate had been holed up with Fox and had offered to help with the bomb. She couldn’t have been behind the occupation.

“When Bruce Wayne murdered her father, Talia took control of the League of Shadows. She had a plan to destroy him. I followed my orders,” Bane said as he turned back to continue gathering food.

“Bruce killed Ta—Miranda’s father and she wanted revenge? She was going to blow up a whole city because her father died?” John asked, incredulous that someone could be so selfish and yet claim to want to free a city from their oppressors. Though, John wondered if that part was Bane. He had learned that Bane grew up in a prison, hadn’t known what it was like to be free. So John assumed that Bane wanted others to know what freedom felt like, wanted everyone to get a chance for better opportunities. He just went about it in a horrible way.

“If your father was murdered, would you not want to seek vengeance?” Bane asked, walking back to the nest of blankets with a plate of bread and cheese.

“My father was murdered,” John answered, shifting back to make room for Bane.

“You did not find the man responsible?”

“That’s what the justice system is for.” John grabbed a piece of bread the plate and started picking at it. While he had strived to forget about the traumas of his childhood, whenever they were brought up, he was swamped by the same emotions. It made him feel like an angry little boy all over again and he didn’t like it. “Why don’t you wear the mask anymore?” he asked, trying to change the subject before he got too emotional.

“It was damaged,” Bane said and took a large bite out of the cheese he had brought.

“Why did you wear it in the first place?”

“To manage pain.”

John’s fingers stilled, clutching the bread as he examined Bane. “You don’t feel pain now?”

“Of course I do.” John opened his mouth, another question about to slip out when Bane continued. “Gotham may be corrupt, but the medicines are far more effective here.”

“So where are you getting the money?” Bane shot him a look. “Right, stupid question,” he said and popped the now much smaller piece of bread into his mouth.

“Why are you telling me all this?” John asked once he swallowed.

“You asked. Did you not want to know?”

John shook his head. “That’s not what I meant, at all.”

“Then why not ask what you wanted to know?”

John huffed out a small laugh. No one would ever believe him if he told them Bane was adorable. Not that he had anyone to share that tidbit with, and he certainly wasn’t going to admit it to Bane. The larger man could crush him with half a thought. John didn’t want to give him a whole one.

“Don’t worry.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes. John was feeling content and comfortable in Bane’s presence which was something he wasn’t used to. There hadn’t been a time in his life when he’d ever felt truly at ease and now that Gotham’s Reckoning was creating that feeling for him, John was worried. Obviously there was some deeper problem that lived inside him.

“Your father is dead. What about your mother?” Bane asked, surprising John enough that he dropped his piece of bread.

“She died in a car crash when I was a kid.” John hoped it was enough of an answer for Bane and that he didn’t delve deeper. There were many things John never wanted to talk about again and he’d shared more than enough with Bruce to get him back into the crime fighting game.

“You were molded by adversity. That is the reason for your fire,” Bane said, surprisingly adept at seeing through John.

“I never asked for it,” John muttered.

“People rarely do,” Bane pointed out, raising his brows at John’s petulant tone. “If you had a comfortable life, you would not wish to save Gotham. You would not fight for it as you do. It is admirable, if not misguided.”

“That’s a compliment, right?” John asked, unsure how to take Bane’s words. It easily could have been an insult, considering how Bane still argued about the corruption that was plaguing Gotham. But there was always the chance that Bane genuinely thought John was worthy of praise. That thought really shouldn’t have warmed his as much as it did.

“Without fire, you would be dead.”

“Well that’s reassuring,” John mumbled, pushing the plate of food away from him. He might have complained about being hungry but he was getting sick of bread and cheese.

“You are no longer hungry?” Bane asked, setting the plate beside their nest of blankets, eyes following John as he lied back, arms folded beneath his head.

“I’ll eat more soon,” he reassured Bane, that warm feeling growing inside him at what was clearly Bane’s way of showing he cared. John wasn’t sure how he had learnt Bane’s tells—or why.

“You were a police officer,” Bane said. It was less of a question and more of a statement so John just nodded. “But you aren’t anymore. Why not?”

John frowned. There were so many reasons for both becoming a cop and leaving the force, but he wasn’t sure how he could possibly put any of them into words Bane would understand. “When my parents died, a lot of things were out of my control. I wanted to be in charge of my life, to be the one making the rules. But even after I was a cop, I still wasn’t in control of anything. People were still telling me what to do and that wasn’t what I wanted. I just want to save people.” He didn’t add the ‘no matter what’ that rattled around his head. There were several people he could have saved if he’d had more control.

Bane hummed and settled beside John in a content silence. There were many more questions buzzing through John’s head. So many things he wanted to know the answers to, but he held his tongue. Bane had already offered up so much more than John had ever expected him to and John didn’t want to push his luck.

“My name is Robin,” John said after a few minutes of silence. He wasn’t sure why he said it. Wasn’t sure why he felt the need to share a piece of information that he had worked so hide to bury in his past.

“Little bird,” Bane hummed, pulling John against him.

John protested, wanting to argue over the stupid nickname he had just been given, but Bane was stronger and pressed John into his side. There was no use trying to struggle. He was too sore to go another round with Bane—in either sense—so he settled in, resting his head against the larger man’s chest. He let the steady beat of Bane’s heart lull him towards sleep.

“Sleep, little bird. We have many things to do tomorrow.”

—

“Come,” Bane said, not waiting for John to haul himself out of their makeshift bed.

John scrambled, grateful that it had been too cold to laze around without any clothes on. “Where are we going?” he asked, buttoning up his coat as he followed Bane to the exit. He was fascinated. Since he had traded places with Kevin, Bane hadn’t let John topside. He couldn’t guess what had changed Bane’s mind.

“There is something you must see,” Bane said vaguely as he gestured for John to climb the ladder first.

The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows over the people bustling in the streets. John hadn’t been surrounded by so many people in months and he was starting to feel overwhelmed.

“Come,” Bane said again, striding through the people.

They all parted for Bane, unwilling to get in the large man’s way. Somehow there wasn’t a flicker of recognition on anyone’s face. John wondered if Bane really was so unrecognisable without the mask. Though, John had only recognised Bane because of his voice, and no one on a noisy street would hear Bane muttering commands to John.

They didn’t walk far, hardly three blocks, before Bane turned into a park.

“While the fresh air is great and all, I don’t need to be walked like some sort of errant puppy,” John huffed, hands stuffed in his pockets as Bane stalked through the park. John couldn’t figure out what Bane was looking for, but it was clear he was trying to find something in particular.

Bane didn’t respond, didn’t acknowledge John more than necessary which involved manhandling John until they were both seated on a park bench near a playground.

“What are we doing?” John asked as he scooted a little closer to Bane so their thighs were pressed together.

“Watching.”

John sighed, digging his hands into his pockets deeper and shrugging his shoulders up to keep the cold at bay. He scanned the crowd while trying to not look like he was. There were children playing on the playground, parents warily watching passersby and neither John nor Bane were with kids. He didn’t want to draw attention to them any more than Bane’s large form already was.

“Are we looking for something in particular?” John asked after five minutes of silence.

“Him,” Bane said with barely a tilt of his head in the direction of the man in question.

If it wasn’t for the fact the man was by himself and no children were running up to him every few minutes, John wouldn’t have known who Bane was talking about. “Judge Williams?”

“Why is he here?”

John frowned up at Bane. The question really should have been why _they_ were there, but he let it go. Something was a little strange about the Judge sitting in the park all alone. As far as John knew—and everyone knew a lot about Williams—the Judge didn’t have any children so he had no reason to be in the park. John didn’t have any children so he shouldn’t have been in the park either. Really, John couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about.

“Look closer,” Bane prompted, fingers guiding John’s face back to the playground.

John sighed and played along, keeping his eyes on Judge Williams and those around him. It wasn’t long before John started to notice the parents watching Williams as well and it took far longer than John would have liked for everything to click.

“Oh,” he breathed.

“You see,” Bane praised, sending a warm fuzzy feeling through John.

John was about to reply, say something witty to cover the affection bubbling inside of him, but Bane stood before he could get a word out. He hastily stood, following Bane’s long strides as they shadowed Williams.

Neither of them spoke a word as they tracked Williams through his evening routine—taking note of who Williams let his gaze linger on—and to his home. John had wanted to comment on a few of the more mundane things they observed, though. Honestly, what kind of person needed to stop into three different drug stores? The more he thought about it, the less John wanted to delve into Judge Williams’ psyche though. He had sat in a park alone all afternoon. That was more than enough to make John’s stomach twist.

John was willing to leave the whole thing alone when Williams had entered his house but Bane had insisted on staying.

“Can we please go back? It’s freezing out here,” John complained.

Bane ignored him and climbed up the fire escape, moving with an ease John couldn’t fathom. Bane’s size seemed like it should have been more of a hindrance but John was convinced that Bane actually moved far more lithely than John did.

John hurried up the fire escape, nearly colliding with Bane when he stopped. “Son of a bitch,” John muttered, rubbing his shoulder.

Bane moved fast, shoving John against the wall, his forearm pressing over John’s throat.

His eyes flew open, fingers clutching at the solid muscle pinning him.

“Silence, little bird,” Bane rumbled, releasing John and gesturing to the window. He made room for John to join him looking through the glass. “This is what the Judge gets up to in private. Is he worth saving?”

John stared, mouth dropping open. Pictures of little girls decorated the walls. His stomach turned. His blood boiled. How could someone so respected within the judicial system be so disgusting? How could John have been so blind? Bane was right. Gotham was far more corrupt than John had ever let himself believe.

The moment Williams disappeared to a different room, John jimmied the window and climbed through, leaving Bane on the fire escape. He was moving on pure instinct, every nerve in his body screaming out that something needed to be done.

He grabbed a knife from the kitchen. It was heavy in his hand, a solid weight grounding him in the moment. His steps were silent, breathing restrained, as he crept through the house in search of Williams.

Williams was easy to find. The flush of a toilet giving away his location.

John waited on the other side of the door, lunging forward as soon as it was open. He pressed through clothing and muscle as Williams screamed at his sudden appearance.

The knife slipped through the Judge’s flesh far easier than John had expected it to. Blood flowed over his hand making it hard to keep his grip. He managed, somehow, and pulled the knife out only to plunge it in again and again and again.

John vaguely registered the bubbling sounds of the man dying as he crumpled to the ground. He followed, the knife sticking out of Williams’ stomach. It was easy, so much easier than John had thought it would be to take this man’s life.

He’d followed him, watched as he walked around Gotham, his eyes flicking over the little girl’s he passed. John had felt sick as he’d watched and known without a doubt that Bane was right. There were some people that couldn’t be left to haunt Gotham’s streets. There was one way to fix it and John had.

He grabbed the knife, relishing the way it slid from Williams’ stomach with ease. A small satisfied smile spread over his lips as he watched the blood oozing from the Judge’s numerous wounds.

Cold seeped through his pants, chilling him as knelt before the body. The knife clattered to the ground, startling him from his blank stare.

“What?” he murmured, pushing himself backwards, away from the dead body. There was blood pooling around him, his clothes were wet with it, hands slippery. “Fuck,” he whimpered. What had he done? What had happened?

“Little bird,” Bane said, his breath tickling John’s ear. “It is done.”

John turned, clutching at Bane’s vest as he buried his face into it. Blood smeared over Bane’s shirt and John blanched, wanting desperately to get rid of it. He couldn’t dirty Bane, couldn’t soil him with whatever mess John had created.

“Do you see?” Bane asked, fingers digging into John’s chin as he forced him to look up. “Do you see he had to die?”

John swallowed hard, meeting Bane’s eyes. In the back of his mind, a voice quietly reminded him that killing people wasn’t the answer to anything. John shut it down, letting Bane be his rock, his solid presence that grounded him in the moment.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“You did well.”


End file.
